Fun and Games
by Nacata
Summary: A collection of one-shots prompted by jokes.Because let’s be honest; is there anything more appropriate than jokes where the Weasley Twins are concerned? Fred/Angie, as usual. A little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff, and probably some heavy snogging.
1. Breathing

Title: Fun and Games

Author: Nacata

Rating: T for sexual situations and language.

Summary: A collection of one-shots prompted by jokes. (Because let's be honest; is there anything more appropriate than jokes where the Weasley Twins are concerned?) Fred/Angie, as usual. A little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff, and probably some heavy snogging sessions.

Chapter One: Breathing

Author's Note: I can't help myself. They're just so darn cute. Deathly Hallows, you suck. That's right. I'm talking to a book. I've been driven mad by grief. Read along, now.

* * *

_A blonde goes into the beauty parlor with her walkman on her head._

_"I need to take that walkman off your head," says the beautician._

_"You can't! I'll die!" retorts the blonde._

_"I can't cut your hair with the walkman on your ears!" says the beauty specialist as she's getting very annoyed._

_"I said you can't take it off, or I'll die!"_

_The beauty specialist, outraged and frustrated, grabs the walkman and yanks it off the head of the blonde. Within seconds, the blonde dies. When the beautician picks up the walkman to listen, she hears it repeating "breathe in, breathe out, breathe in."_

--

She remembered odd things about that day: the way the grass split beneath his body like it used to beneath his broom. The way the banners hovered seconds longer than the wind meant for them to. The ring on Katie Bell's tiny finger. The missing button on Fred's shirt. Just how high of a shriek Alicia could muster when George pinched her unexpectedly. It was the event itself that seemed blurry. It was Cedric Diggory's face that seemed fuzzy. His apparel that she couldn't remember, his voice that had slipped her mind, and she was frantic suddenly to keep every piece of him with her so that she might not lose him: might not let him slip away, but he was fading so quickly.

She remembered odd things about that funeral. Remembered the little lapse in Fred's skin where he'd sliced open his finger and had to have it stitched up again at age nine. She recalled the way his knee rested against hers with such an intense warmth that she could do nothing but concentrate on it throughout the ceremony so that she might refrain from crying. She remembered how all the tears ballooned inside of her lungs until she wasn't sure that she could breathe and then how after the ceremony in the hall Fred was breathing with her, breathing for her, breathing into her and kissing her so hard that she couldn't tell where his mouth started and hers stopped, where his tears began and hers ended.

She remembered a week later back at home when the tears ballooned again and there was no Fred to breathe for her so she crawled into her mother's bed late at night and Mrs. Johnson held her firmly against her body and stroked her hair as the room reverberated with her mourning. She remembered how hot the grief was in her throat and her chest, how it begged for escape from her slender body and how the dark consumed her sobs and hollowed them until she barely recognized the sound.

She remembered, "Mum…"

She remembered, "Honey, I know."

She remembered, "Angelina, baby, everything dies."

--

Fred Weasley was not everything.

--

But he was. To her he was everything and she wondered sometimes if she hadn't let him be, if he hadn't been everything to someone in this world, then he would've been nothing maybe, and nothing lived forever, right? And she wished that he were nothing or she was everything so that she might be dead too so he could hold her again while she sobbed because who's knee had rested against hers at his funerals no one's and the tears had just ballooned and swelled and engorged and there was no one there to breathe for her and she'd forgotten how to do it for herself and so--

So she just cried instead. Crawled back into mommy's bed and sobbed big fat heavy tears.

She remembered, "Mum…"

She remembered, "Angelina, baby, everything dies."

She remembered, "Mum, I can't remember how it works without him."

And she remembered, "Honey, you just keep breathing."

He'd even done that for her, though.

* * *

Author's Note: And there's your first one. Reviews make me giddy. And if you're looking for some Frangie goodness in a multi-chaptered fic, go check out Shackles. Angelina's chapter is presently in the works, but I promise they're a large part of that story. Purple button, please!


	2. Driveway

Title: Fun and Games

Author: Nacata

Rating: T for sexual situations and language.

Summary: A collection of one-shots prompted by jokes. (Because let's be honest; is there anything more appropriate than jokes where the Weasley Twins are concerned?) Fred/Angie, as usual. A little bit of angst, a little bit of fluff, and probably some heavy snogging sessions.

Author's Note: I can't seem to get this one right. If you have any suggestions, please leave them. I'd love a chance to rework it into something better. A bit of fluff to counteract the tragedy of "Breathing." Enjoy.

* * *

_ "When is a car not a car?"_

_"When it turns into a driveway."_

* * *

He was late again. Again and again and again and again and Angelina Johnson promised herself that this would be the last again because Frederick Arthur Weasley was a stupid bloody prat who had barely owled her all summer and he deserved no more again's ever again.

Of course, he always showed up.

And she always forgave him.

But it would be different this time. Because when he rolled on through the clouds over-hanging her street and into the flickering lamplight above her driveway, she shut her window and walked away. There were various objects chucked at her window (again and again and again and again) but she ignored them. There were his quiet hisses of "Angelina!" (again and again and again and again) but she ignored them. There was his father's car horn again and again and again and the thing was so goddamn annoying that eventually she threw down the Quidditch Manual she'd been pretending to read whilst secretly basking in his lame attempts to gain her forgiveness and she stalked to the window, throwing it open again.

"_What?_"

"C'mere. I've missed you." The car was floating at window-level, their faces just feet apart.

"_No_."

"What? Why? 'Lina, c'mon now…"

"No. You're late again. Do you know how long I've been sitting here, Weasley?" She knew because she'd checked the clock again and again and again and again. "You said you'd be here at seven! It's now nine thirty!"

"Oh. Er…sorry."

"What?"

"I said sorry. George had to distract mum while I er…borrowed the car. I think Dad saw me…actually, he looked quite pleased. Forgive me?" He flashed that infamously agitating grin.

"You've got a _hell_ of a lot of kissing up to do if you want me to come out there."

As it turned out he was very good at kissing up.

Very good at kissing up her thigh and up her stomach and up her neck and oh merlin she'd forgotten how nice it was to writhe beneath him. His lips met her skin again and again and again. His breath tickled her nerves again and again and again. And he asked, "Forgive me?" again and again and again.

"No."

His lips were at her ear, his teeth nibbling the shell. "How about now?"

"No."

His hands had found her breasts and her lips parted as she arched towards his touch.

"Now?"

"…No."

"Mm. How about…now?" He had flicked his tongue lovingly over the hollow of her neck and all was forgotten; she was done for.

"Fred…" The way his name fell so pleadingly from her lips confirmed it. He pulled back enough just to grin down at her, knowing he'd probably pay for that smug little smile when she wasn't so disoriented. He looked silly and misconstrued in the dim light shining through the back of his father's car window. The park's overhead lighting was no better than Angelina's driveway and the seat beneath her wasn't very comfortable but his mouth certainly was.

"Tell me you've missed me," He was still smiling, but he was doing so beside her ear now, where she couldn't see him. She could only hear the grating huskiness of his voice and feel his tongue as it traced the outside of her ear. Stubbornly, she didn't oblige him, though she compromised by allowing her hands to roam up his bare chest, shifting so she could poke at his tennis shoe with her own. He pressed himself down on her more firmly, demanding again, "Tell me that you've missed me." And this time his request was so raw and his grip on her was so needy that she murmured,

"I've missed you, you stupid prat."

He leaned back and smiled again. And then he proceeded to kiss her again and again and again.

* * *

Author's Note: Purple Button, please!


End file.
